


Pet Rock

by Nath



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-15
Updated: 2008-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nath/pseuds/Nath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The result of a late night/early morning email exchange: the true story of a man and his pet rock, and how they changed the world of winter sports.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet Rock

_The King's Scribe had read many unlikely tales over the years, many of them discredited simply by being third- or fourth-hand accounts. This, however, appeared to be set down by the last Ruling Steward himself, in his private diary. But it_ had _to be a forgery, even if it seemed to be in Denethor's handwriting..._

* * *

 _200 years before, somewhat up and west from where the Scribe sat glaring at a small, innocuous looking book:_

If he took a longer run at it, he might be able to slide all the way across the small mountain lake.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

 _Curse it! Almost!_ With a sigh, he scrambled to his feet again. _One more time..._

 _  
_

* * *

__All of this was, of course, Thorongil's fault. Had the Captain not told him of the strange customs of the Lossoth, who dwelt in the icy wastes of the furthest north, Denethor would never have gone up into the mountains to study ice and snow. After a first disastrous experiment, he would not further compromise his dignity by trying to walk on a frozen body of water with sharpened bones tied to his feet, as the Snowmen were rumoured to do. However, he did enjoy sliding on the ice and seeing how far he could go.

Denethor also introduced his sons to the pastime once they were old enough to appreciate it, though only during the day; the night-time expeditions were his alone. Well, his and the palantír's, if he was entirely accurate, he thought as he glanced over at the bag that held the Stone. Even Finduilas had occasionally come along with the boys once she found out where they went when they sneaked out of the City. Though she disliked the cold, he recalled that she had definitely enjoyed the manner in which he chose to warm her up again afterwards.

It had started with that night he had been drunk – he did not quite remember the details, but there had been some kind of celebration and he had been arguing with Thorongil. Then he decided to sneak up into the tower room where the palantír was kept, and moon Sauron. _You shtsh shto_ he stopped and very carefully articulated the next word _s-t-o-lll ohnevermind... the Shtone from the Tower of the Moon – and the damnable Tower itshelf ash well – I'll show you a moon you'll never forget!_ Luckily, he had fallen over in a stupor as soon as he lifted the cloth that covered the Stone, but that too had been Thorongil's fault. Had it not been for him, Denethor would not have been drinking to such excess.

The next morning he woke up face down in the dust, and as he blinked to clear his eyes, the dust made him sneeze, not at all a pleasant experience when hung-over. He would have to clean this room. Not that he intended to repeat the previous night's activities, but the room was a disgrace. Once his head stopped hurting, he made his way down the tower to look for a broom, and he quickly attended to his task, before he realised that the palantír was still uncovered. He pulled the cover over it again before looking around the room with an air of satisfaction. How long had it been since anyone had cleaned in here?

The Steward was not sure _how_ the time he had spent in villages near Dol Amroth as a young man, watching fishermen play their games of bowls, could be blamed on Thorongil, but he was certain that it could, even if Thorongil had not even been in Gondor at the time.

* * *

Denethor wondered if he could sneak out this night. He had already taken the palantír from the hidden chamber at the top of Ecthelion's Tower; now all that was left was to secretly make his way out of the City and up Mindolluin to the little lake high up the mountain's side, high up enough that it was frozen even in summer.

He knew of course that the Stone wasn't truly alive, and there was nothing in what was written about the Seven Stones that suggested the possibility that they possessed awareness, yet it seemed there was an air of _happiness_ about the Stone when he took it from the Tower and patted it with the promise that he'd take it outside this night or the next one.

It had started purely by accident; he had needed to be alone to look into the Stone, and he had also wanted to indulge in his secret hobby – and to think that he would have such a hobby! all those who opposed him would be delighted to find out such a secret and mock him with it. He shuddered at the thought of Mithrandir or Thorongil finding out – so he had taken the Stone with him to the lake, intending to first play around a bit on the ice and then settle down to watch what he could find out of the Enemy's activities.

However, as he took the Stone out of its bag, his fingers were too cold to properly hold on to it, and it slipped out of his hands on to the ice. At first, he was too shocked to move, and could only watch as the palantír rolled towards a patch of dry reeds on the other side of the lake. Then, as he rushed after the Stone to catch it, it almost seemed as if the Stone rolled _away_ from his grasp, trying to elude him. He soon got hold of it, though, and sat down to watch, yet the palantír appeared oddly reluctant to bend to his will, and would only show him the images it had just gathered as it rolled across the ice.

With a sigh, he apologised to the Stone for having dropped it, but it still wouldn't settle to his will. Now it showed him the sight of him cleaning the Tower room with his broom, and superimposed the icy lake over the vision of the floor of the room.

Did the Stone want him to clean the ice? There was a flicker in the image that he almost could believe was an exasperated sigh, and the image reformed so that it seemed to show him chasing after the palantír with the broom. Finally, he understood. The palantír wanted to play tag! Now it was Denethor's turn to sigh in exasperation, as he went looking for a dead tree branch that he could use instead of a broom. First, the Stone insisted on the broom, but Denethor made it clear that next time he would bring the broom, but that now it was a stick or nothing.

A few weeks after, Denethor sat pondering that night's excursion. He knew his sons would enjoy this too, but surely he could not take the boys to play tag with the palantír? They would have to find a smooth piece of granite or marble to slide across the lake, and maybe there could be targets on the ice, so that there could be an element of competition in the activity, even if that almost made it like playing bowls on ice. The Steward smiled briefly, then called his esquire to find certain items for him.

* * *

 _The Scribe slammed the book shut with a force that was, if not rude, certainly inconsiderate, given the volume's age and condition. He stood up and returned it to its shelf, only his pursed lips indicating his displeasure now. The mere suggestion that a stern, dignified man as the Steward had by all accounts been would have invented the game of curling... Next he would be expected to believe that a Halfling had invented golf..._


End file.
